What About Everything
by SimplexityJane
Summary: Kurt Hummel's grandfather is a mob boss. Most of the time that's okay. Puckurt.


_Don't tell people your last name._ It had been a mantra in Elizabeth's life, and she made sure her son knew it too. They'd moved from Boston when she was pregnant with him- Uncle Nick knew they needed to get the hell away from the family, no matter how much she loved them. Burt didn't know anything beyond the basics- "My dad has a lot of money and a lot of enemies."- and Kurt was too young to tell when she got sick.

The packages of money started coming when Kurt was thirteen, at first small amounts- twenty here, a hundred on Christmas. When he turned fifteen his dad was suddenly able to buy a brand new Navigator that he promptly made Kurt keep up, checking over everything once a month. There was a letter with three hundred dollars cash and a bank statement that made Kurt's eyes go wide- how the hell did someone just give him five thousand dollars a month for three years and he not know about it? The writing on the letter- real writing scrawled- said it was from his grandfather Eric. There was a picture of a smiling man with gray in his red hair dated five years previous.

There was also a warning to remember the self defense Mom had made sure he took, and that a hundred thousand of that money was reserved for college. The rest, he could use any way he wanted- But no drugs. That isn't what smart men do.

He liked clothes. And technology. He barely made a dent in a dent, even remodeling his room.

"I hate school," he muttered, pulling himself out of the dumpster. Thank goodness he actually remembered what you did when you fell, so even if more than a hundred dollars was wasted in clothes he wasn't actually hurt. Just very late, and this day was looking down already. He hated Puckerman and his cronies, could have beaten all of them- but Mom told him not to use his body to hurt people when words were so much worse. Besides, throwing punches would ruin his nails.

Madame Evenson nodded at him and didn't count him tardy, a blessing only afforded him because he was fluent in her favorite language. He also knew some German, Spanish, and Latin, but French was prettier than all of them. It was the language of lovers.

At least glee was fun, even if Rachel Berry was an idiot with the fashion sense of a deprived child and didn't know some people didn't like being her backup. He even got to stare at an attractive guy without being afraid he would get hit, even if Finn Hudson was on the gawky side of charming. By the time they were dismissed Kurt could count the day as a good one. Of course that didn't last.

"Well if it isn't Princess Hummel," Puck said, sneering at him. He was standing beside his poor run down truck and Kurt winced at the sound coming from it. Even if Puckerman could get an entirely new engine it would be cheaper to just buy a new truck. If they'd been friends Kurt would have helped him out. As it was he raised his nose in the air and walked off.

Two black cars screeched up beside him, nearly running him over as he jumped back. There was an outraged, "Watch it assholes!" from behind him and he smirked. But then several men were exiting the cars and between a twist of his arm and a gun to his temple his efforts were stopped cold. Puck was in front of him on his knees, gunman behind him and Kurt kicked his attacker.

"Get the hell away from him!" he screeched, cursing his voice for breaking. The gun pressed closer to his temple but he didn't stop struggling, trying to get to Puck- dammit, he didn't deserve to die no matter how much of an asshole he was. "I have money, leave him out of this."

"We need one hostage," a man said in what Kurt recognized as Italian, which he didn't know very well. "Eric won't pay for both."

"I'll pay you!" Kurt said in English, hoping the men could understand him. "I have money, just let him go!" He forgot what he was supposed to do if an attacker had hold of him but guns made things different.

"Just knock them both out and come on," the guy Kurt figured was the leader said. "Morgan might not pay for the boyfriend, but he might." He nodded at Kurt, who only realized they meant to keep them both alive when he and Puck were knocked with the butts of guns and the world went black.

Pain. It was the only thing Kurt could distinguish between kicks and punches. Nothing was broken, but they'd cracked at least one rib and he couldn't see from the blood that trickled into his face. Puck was better off- they hadn't had to make it look convincing for him. Between periods of torture he laid down in the basement that served as their cell, head in Puck's lap even though something about that seemed strange. It was probably blood loss that made him forget that Puck hated him.

"I don't," Puck said, using a wet rag to wipe at the cuts on Kurt's head. Oh, he'd said that out loud. "You think you're all that- it's my duty as a badass to prove you wrong."

"I guess you were wrong," Kurt said haltingly, leaning into the cool water. "The last video said they wanted half a million just for me." He choked a little and Puck helped him to a sitting position to drink some of the cleanish water they'd been given. "Thanks," he said when he thought he wouldn't throw up if he opened his mouth. "Do you think you could get out? Just you?" Puck wasn't a part of this. He shouldn't even be here.

"Don't even talk about it, Hummel. I'm not leaving you with these punks."

An hour later they got food- Harry's wife must have made something nice tonight; this was almost good. Kurt was only able to get down the bread and some of the broth that might have been potato soup before he felt sick, but it was the best thing he'd gotten in three days. He made a point of telling the guard thank you- Harry just nodded at him, obviously torn about keeping kids hostage. Especially since Kurt was playing up the innocent victim card enough that Puck had actually pinched him before he remembered that Kurt was actually bruised.

"What time is it?" Kurt asked when he woke up. It was always dark down here, but there was a clock. Puck could see it even if Kurt didn't want to try to focus on anything.

"About five in the morning," Puck muttered. They were huddled under a blanket together. Shame had gone out the window when they'd had to pee in a vase, even if Puck had almost thrown up the first time they'd had to do that. Kurt relaxed into Puck's arms. They'd saved the torture for after noon for the past few days. Harry was still standing guard, though he looked even more agitated than usual.

"What's wrong?" Kurt asked. The rasp of his voice seemed to decide Harry, and he threw the keys to the ground. Kurt's eyes widened.

"Go on, they won't see you. Hit me over the head too." Harry looked around as Puck crawled to the keys. "Go on. Get the hell out of here."

Kurt could stand, but it was Puck who hit Harry over the head before throwing Kurt over his shoulder. Kurt tried not to squawk or groan.

Hotwiring a car was something Kurt knew how to do, but Puck was good at it too. They didn't know where they were- raiding Harry's pockets got them a credit card and enough for a room, and Kurt assessed his wounds while they drove. Bruised, not cracked ribs, but a finger was broken. They were in Massachusetts, which had made Kurt go very still even as he directed them toward a motel. It was away from the main roads, mostly safe- he couldn't ask for more. The clerk didn't look twice at the two young men getting a room for the night.

"We can't call my dad- we have to assume the phones have been tapped." Kurt drummed his good fingers on the table. "Your mom either."

"Here's some Tylenol," Puck interrupted. "It's all they had. And- weren't they holding you hostage for your grandfather?"

Hands shaking, Kurt popped two Tylenol into his mouth. He tried to glare at Puck, but he couldn't manage it.

"My grandfather, Eric Morgan, is a very rich, very dangerous man. He's the head of an Irish crime ring and a lot of people hate him. My mom didn't go into details before she died- cancer, not these guys- but I'm pretty sure she and Dad left because people really didn't want him to have a legacy, as it were. They could have lived somewhere I didn't get taunted every day I went to school, but apparently Lima was the safest place they could go unless they went to Minnesota and started a farm. Grandpa didn't take pee balloons into account." Of course he held it against him. "And if I call him he'll probably end up killing all of them for spite. So no."

"Well it's either him or the police, and I sure ain't calling them. If he's like you said, I bet we haven't even been reported missing." The sneer on his face clearly said he blamed Kurt for that.

"Oh yeah, and if I hadn't told them not to shoot you you'd be in a ditch somewhere. Things could be a whole lot worse, and you know it."

"Yeah, now I owe the fucking mob and you! Dammit, you went through hell because of me and then you saved my fucking life!" Puck punched the wall and swore again. Kurt tossed him the Tylenol.

"I'm not sorry," he said in the silence. "Honestly, I didn't even consider it. You were an asshole, but no one deserves to die. And you don't owe me. If anything you're going to be in therapy because of this, and you made sure I didn't die."

Puck actually smiled, even when Kurt checked his hand for splinters. Luckily it wasn't broken, but it was close. "You don't need to do stuff like that. We've already got to get home with my broken finger- thanks for the tape, by the way." It was sitting on the table from when Puck had gone to the store. When Puck didn't make a move to back away with some smug comment Kurt glanced from his injured hand, noticing the way he was looking at Kurt- well, a little like he was meat, actually.

"Kurt-"

"Nope," Kurt said, backing away. "Beginning anything because of the stress of a situation just invariably makes the calm times seem dull and boring, besides you definitely shouldn't be getting involved with a guy who's connected to the mob."

"Way I see it, we won't be able to tell this to anyone. Both of us are gonna be scarred from this for the rest of our lives- I'm definitely taking this into my home buying decisions, no basements- and any sort of long time relationship would end because they'd know we were lying and I'm not telling anyone who might go to the police with a story about the mob. Besides, we just escaped a very dangerous situation by the skins of our teeth and personally, I think we should burn off the stress." He smirked now, dangerously.

"Puck... it's not a good idea. You like girls, remember? I might be gay, but I do still have a cock." The profanity slipped out without a blush of heat.

"And? People are people. I don't care about sexuality- don't give me that. You acted like you were some bigshot. Now I know why."

"You're incredibly persistent," Kurt said, staring into the much closer pair of eyes. "It would be nice if I hadn't bruised a couple of ribs in the past few days."

"Eh, I'm in fight club." Puck shrugged. "I'm used to working around injuries." Puck wasn't moving, so Kurt ended up actually overbalancing into his face. As far as first kisses went it was pretty awful, but Puck clutching his shoulder- not on a bruise, thank goodness- and pulling him in helped that problem.

"It's not like the movies," Kurt said, trying not to let too much spit out. Puck just used that as an opportunity to stick his tongue down Kurt's throat, which was either completely thrilling or really disgusting, Kurt wasn't sure which. Somewhere in there Kurt ended up on his lap in a rickety hotel chair, trying not to gasp when his erection rubbed up against an equally hard groin. He failed, and Puck chuckled.

"Ah-ow," Kurt said as his ribs twinged. "I don't think this can work."

Puck nuzzled against his cheek and kissed behind his ear, chuckling even as he backed away. "Alright," he said. "We'd probably have taken this to the bed eventually anyway. Come on." He slapped his own thighs and actually grinned, apparently not at all concerned that he was hard and it was a guy doing it to him.

"You have no sense of romance, do you?" Kurt asked. It was thrilling.

"Nope. Now, can you get there on your own or will I have to carry you?"

"I can walk," Kurt said dryly.

It didn't occur to him to be freaked out that he was about to have sex, or at least get off. Way too much had happened in the past week for something like that to matter. He just sat primly on the bed, one eyebrow raised at the way Puck just stood there for a second.

"I assume you've been tested," Kurt said. It was hard to think around the lack of blood in his brain but not impossible. Puck just nodded and licked his lips. Hopefully Kurt's breath didn't smell- Puck's was pretty awful. "Then get over here."

"Huh," Puck chuckled, doing just that. "Didn't figure you for a top." He sat straddling Kurt's legs. "This good?"

"What, you thought I'd ever be submissive?" Kurt quipped, hand around Puck's neck, pulling him into a kiss that was definitely more disgusting than before. He didn't really care, though, too focused on the way Puck was nibbling on his jaw and laying him down, nipping at Puck's upper lip and smirking. "I don't think I like this position. Not a good view."

"Oh, really?" Puck pulled off his shirt in one smooth move. "That better?"

"A little. I don't think I have the leverage to give you the same pleasure, thou-gh." It ended in a gasp as Puck rolled his hips. Kurt gave as good as he could without hurting himself, promising himself that next time it would be more reciprocal. For now he just scratched down Puck's back, moaning and trying desperately not to come in his pants.

"Next time," Puck said. "Definitely next time." He thrust once, twice more, and Kurt bit his lip on a cry as his entire body shuddered. Puck didn't last much longer before he collapsed, which made Kurt groan again, this time in pain.

"Considering it's several hours to Lima, I doubt that," Kurt said, shifting uncomfortably. He was sticky. He didn't like it. "We need to start tomorrow."

"Okay." Puck nodded against his chest. "Tomorrow."

It took three days to get back, and Dad hugged him really tightly before realizing he was still bruised. Ruth Puckerman cried desperately and hugged them both, saying that it was okay that Kurt was German since he was gay too and had saved her son.

Eric Morgan called once, and only once. There was a national newscast about a robbery gone very, very wrong, and Kurt very carefully didn't watch it.

"So," he said the night before they were supposed to go back to school. "Is it business as usual?" Puck had sneaked into his room and Kurt was incredibly grateful to be in the basement. When Puck was silent he continued, "I wasn't expecting you to hold my hand or anything, it is Ohio. But if you're going to be- well, you-" Puck chuckled and his chest rumbled against Kurt's head. "Then I really can't continue this in good conscience."

"I can't promise anything," Puck said. "But I'm joining Homo Explosion. Might as well. I figure sleeping with a lot of girls is a bad idea anyway, if the guy I'm sleeping with has a grandpa in the mob."

Kurt laughed.


End file.
